


Book 2: Survival Instinct

by woodmr13



Series: Blood and Venom [2]
Category: SCP - Containment Breach, SCP Foundation, SCP Unity
Genre: Gen, Horror, Science Fiction, Supernatural Elements, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2019-11-16 02:03:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18085316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodmr13/pseuds/woodmr13
Summary: On April 15, 2012, a Category δ-Delta lockdown occurred at Area 19, a research facility located in the Kichatna Mountain Range, after a swarm of dangerous anomalies escaped their imprisonment. In the midst of the chaos, a rogue Class-D made a daring escape attempt, finding more than just his courage along the way. ~Based on SCP Containment Breach and SCP Unity.





	1. Incarcerated

“SCP-106 HAS BREACHED CONTAINMENT! INITIATE RECALL PROTOCOL RP-106-N IMMEDIATELY!”

 

A man clad in a white tank top and gray sweatpants shot up in bed, frantically looking around his small cell as a shrill alarm tore through the quiet night. Blinking the sleepiness out of his eyes, he stood up and made his way across the room, the white tile floor’s icy chill stinging his bare feet. He pressed his ear up against the metal door, listening intently as heavy footsteps quickly approached, stopping only a few cells short of his own. Then, he heard a nearby cell door open, and a frantic conversation took place.

 

“D-9215, come with me right now!” a gruff voice commanded.

 

“Hold on a minute, what the hell’s going on out there?” a startled voice responded.

 

“This is no time for games, D-9215! Now you will come willingly or I’ll drag you out!”

 

“Alright, I’m coming! You could’ve asked nicely, asshole!” This response was met with a loud smack and a pained groan as the guard drove his fist into the inmate’s jaw.

 

“You want another one, wise-ass? Follow me!” The footsteps of both guard and inmate then retreated back down the hall, quickly fading into silence once more. The man in the cell backed away from the door and sat back down on his bed, which was little more than a metal bed-frame, a lousy mattress, and a couple of white sheets and a pillow. He sat there for a few minutes, trying to comprehend what was happening when all of a sudden the intercom piped up again;

 

“SCP-106 HAS BEEN SPOTTED OUTSIDE OF OFFICE BLOCK C! ALL PERSONNEL, VACATE THE AREA!”

 

The man continued to sit crouched over on his bed, covering his ears as the alarm continued its deafening cry. Then, the intercom turned on again, this time playing live audio from elsewhere in the facility; “You sons of bitches can all go to hell!” D-9215’s furious voice shouted, before being loudly interrupted by the sound of heavy machinery operating, followed by a sharp crack and the agonized screams of the convict. His guttural cries went on for what felt like hours before fading into quiet whimpers. Moments later, a horrific wet, sucking sound became audible, as if someone was stirring thick mud. D-9215’s voice picked up again as he began hyperventilating and sobbing, before culminating in a shriek of pure terror. Then, as suddenly as it all started, everything went silent. There was no more screaming, no more sirens blaring, not even the heavy footfalls of guards outside. After a few tense minutes, the intercom finally delivered the supposed good news;

 

“SCP-106 HAS BEEN SUCCESSFULLY RE-CONTAINED. ALL PERSONNEL, RETURN TO YOUR POSTS AND AWAIT DEBRIEFING. A CLEANING TEAM WILL BE DISPATCHED SHORTLY TO REPAIR THE DAMAGES.”

 

“So, do you still not believe me when I say these bastards are using us as lab rats, Ben? Or were our friend’s screams not enough proof for you?” a muffled voice from the other side of the gray, brick wall spoke up. The man crouched on his bed, Ben, stood up and walked over to the rightmost wall to respond to his fellow inmate;

 

“We don’t know that for sure, Marcus. Just because the other inmates aren’t allowed to talk about their work experiences, it doesn’t mean some big conspiracy is going on. You read the same flyer I did, all this stuff is confidential. Besides, there’s no way they deliberately just did something bad to Isaac because that’s illegal as fuck, and if these leaflets are in any way accurate, there’s no way they’ve released inmates back into the general public and not gotten sued into oblivion if they actually are committing crimes against humanity,” Ben responded, sounding like he was trying harder to convince himself than he was Marcus.

 

“Whatever man, you’re hopeless. I get that you’re skeptical and all since neither of us has actually been given an assignment yet, but use some common sense. Isaac would have to be one hell of an actor to fake screams like those,” Marcus responded with an irritated tone, before letting out a defeated sigh. “Arguing with a brick wall is easier than changing your stubborn mind, and it’s way too early for this shit. I’m going back to sleep, assuming I can get those screams out of my head anytime soon.”

 

“First of all, I never said they were fake. You know as well as I do how stubborn Isaac was, he probably ignored their directions and got himself hurt. Second, how can you tell what time it is?” Ben asked.

 

“Well, the guards haven’t woken us up for breakfast yet, so that means it’s too goddamn early. You should go back to bed too, you might gain a little more common sense if you’re well-rested,” Marcus responded, ending the conversation on a sour note.

 

“Well fuck you too,” Ben mumbled, walking away from the wall. “He did make some really good points though…” he thought, letting a sense of paranoia creep over him, before coming back to his senses and smacking himself on the head. “No, don’t be an idiot, Ben. Marcus is just freaking out over nothing, as usual. I’m sure that by the end of the day, we’ll know exactly what happened to Isaac,” he thought, finally winning the battle with his irrational fear. “Marcus was right about one thing though, it’s too damn early for this shit,” Ben mumbled, getting back into bed and covering up, falling into an uneasy sleep.

 

**[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]**

 

Several hours later, he was awoken by the sound of a loud buzzer going off, followed by the sudden activation of the cell’s single light bulb. Despite being drowsy and irritated, Ben forced himself out of bed, knowing that the guards wouldn’t be happy if he wasn’t ready when they showed up… if they showed up at all. Although he’d never admit it to the others, Ben was jealous that everybody else had been working on top-secret projects while he and a few others were stuck living a regular prison life. Sure, the D-Wing of the facility was far smaller than an actual prison, but it was still a prison nonetheless. It had the holding cells that he and his fellow inmates were currently residing in, a cafeteria, a gym, and even a rec room for those exhibiting good behavior, but that was all there was to it, and doing the same activities day after day quickly grew mind-numbing. He desperately wanted to start working on something interesting rather than wasting away in D-Wing any longer.

 

Nevertheless, he knew that his time to shine would come eventually, and had been on his best behavior to the point that even the guards were starting to grow fond of him. He hoped that winning them over would increase his odds of being chosen, at the very least. With an optimistic outlook for the day, Ben began his morning routine. To the right of his bed, on the eastern side of the cell, was a square sink, a prison toilet, and a small desk and barstool, all of which were stainless steel and secured to the ground, wall, or both. Atop the desk was the flyer he’d been given on his first day as a D-Class, as well as a paperback copy of The Return of the King that he’d borrowed from the miniature library in the rec room. In the corner of the room opposite his bed was a small shower that consisted of a stainless steel shower-head and drain contained within a waist-high, white tile barrier that kept the water from flowing out onto the main floor, as well as a blue curtain that further assisted the water’s containment. He began with going to the bathroom, then washed his hands and brushed his teeth before finally taking a quick shower within the ten-minute timeframe of hot water he was allowed every twelve hours. As his limit on hot water neared the halfway mark, Ben heard a slot near the bottom of the cell door open, followed by something falling on the floor and the slot closing again. He already knew what it was, as he’d gotten used to fresh clothes being delivered on a bi-daily basis.

 

He finished up in the shower and dried off with a gray towel before slipping on the fresh clothes; Undergarments, socks, a tank top and sweatpants the same color as the old ones, and lastly a dark orange jumpsuit. The jumpsuit zipped up in the front from just above the waist to just below the collar and was surprisingly comfortable for prison wear. It wasn’t too baggy either, and Ben’s personal Class-D identification number was stamped vertically on the left side of the shirtfront. After he finished getting dressed, he put on the navy blue canvas slip-on deck shoes that had been provided and sat down on the barstool, looking at his reflection in the mirror. The 30-year-old’s black hair had an unkempt, comb-over style cut, and the short boxed beard he featured was the same color. He was physically fit and somewhat tan, although constantly being indoors was slowly making him grow pale, and his eyes were dark green. After determining himself to be presentable, Ben gathered up his dirty clothes and piled them up in preparation for when he would be let out of his cell, which was going to be sooner rather than later.

 

The door slid open half an hour later, on time as usual, and Ben picked up his dirty clothes and pocketed the library book before joining the rest of the Class-Ds in the hallway. They all stood in a single file line, carrying their dirty clothes to a row of hampers near the guard outpost and dumping them in. The Ds weren’t allowed to do their own laundry, meaning that the guards had to do it in a makeshift laundromat located somewhere within their outpost. Although the guards were supposed to take turns washing the clothing according to their scheduled shifts, they often decided who would be the unfortunate soul to do the job by playing cards during their off-duty hours. Once the matter of the dirty laundry was dealt with, the door straight ahead opened up, revealing the rest of D-Wing.

 

The inmates were then filed through the door and into a four-way hallway featuring a black tile floor and two armed guards standing atop a metal catwalk that stretched from the upper west wall of the room to the eastern, and provided an optimal vantage point for surveillance. The inmates knew this hallway very well by now and had memorized exactly which doors led to where: The western door led to the gym, the eastern door led to the rec room, and directly ahead was the northern door that led to the cafeteria. As the line trudged along, Ben felt his stomach start to growl. He was starving after the hectic morning the facility had experienced, and the fact that he was near the end of the line didn’t help. The Class-Ds were served their daily breakfast of oatmeal, toast, and orange juice as they trickled into the cafeteria. The same meal every morning got repetitive after a while, but nobody was complaining. Every Class-D in the room would gladly take the food provided by The Foundation rather than have to eat regular prison food. The cafeteria itself consisted of an elongated, hexagonal room with a concrete floor and seven rows of five stainless steel tables, each equipped with four barstools of the same material. High-up balconies allowed armed guards to survey the area, and every now and then a new guard would come through the doors to take over for whoever was about to clock out. Two different lines had been formed for the inmates to be served their meals, and each serving window was guarded by armed personnel just in case somebody decided to cause problems.

 

Shortly after all of the Ds had been situated at the tables of their choosing, their attention was drawn to the balcony, where a middle-aged man in a white lab coat stood, prepared to give an announcement. “Attention all Class-D personnel, my name is Security Chief Franklin Carey,” he started. “It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that your fellow inmate Isaac Porter, also known as D-9215, tragically passed away this morning during the re-containment of SCP-106. He only has his own negligence to blame for his death, as he decided to outright ignore the proper safety precautions for operating the heavy machinery needed for the procedure. I’m sure you all heard him decide to do so when he told us to “go to hell”. I’m also sure you heard the resulting accident that happened as a result of his actions before we were able to cut the live audio feed. It was a terrible mistake that never would have happened if he’d simply followed our instructions, but nonetheless, we are very sorry for the loss of your fellow inmate and friend. However, you’ll all be pleased to find out that there’s a bright side to all of this. As stated by Foundation protocol; In the event of a serious containment breach, all D-Class personnel will begin the process of being relieved of their duties that day, regardless of the specifications of their contracts.” At this announcement, a chorus of cheers erupted from the cafeteria but was quickly silenced by Franklin making a shushing motion. “However,” he continued, “This is not a short process, and may take longer than usual due to Area 19 never experiencing something of this magnitude before. Unfortunately for those among you who are scheduled to work today, you will continue to do so as planned. The rest of you, enjoy your last day with us as much as you can. We hope that you’ve all had a pleasant experience working in our facility. So on that final note, I bid you all farewell.”

 

An enormous round of applause erupted at the end of Franklin’s speech, and the man left the room with a surprisingly grim expression on his face. “You see that, Marcus? Not only did that guy just own up to what happened to Isaac, but he said they’re letting us leave this place early too. Do you still think there’s some big conspiracy?” Ben asked the African-American man sitting next to him.

 

“Give me a break, Ben, did you not see the look on that guy’s face? He was lying through his teeth for that entire speech. Even if what he said about Isaac is somehow true, do you really think these pricks are just going to let us all walk free knowing what we know?” Marcus responded, glancing down at his own identification number; D-9348.

 

“Whatever, you can sit here and sulk all you want, I’m gonna try to enjoy the good news,” Ben declared, standing up and taking his dirty dishes over to the kitchen window. About half an hour later, after everybody had been given plenty of time to eat, the cafeteria was slowly emptied, and the inmates with good behavior were allowed to wander D-Wing while under surveillance, while those who were known for causing problems were taken back to their cells. Some of them were even taken away to do their scheduled work, much to their displeasure. As Ben left the cafeteria and made his way to the rec room, he overheard a conversation between the guards on the catwalk;

 

“Why does this facility let the Ds have so many privileges anyway? Most of the other sites just have them sit in their cells until they’re needed for something.”

 

“I guess this place just has so much volatile shit in it as it is that the higher-ups decided the last thing this facility needs is the addition of a bunch of rowdy convicts every month. The better you treat them, the less likely they are to cause problems.”

 

“There wouldn’t be any problems once enough troublemakers got a bullet in the head. I bet the message would sink in pretty quick after that.”

 

“Hey, you said it not me.”

 

Appalled by their barbaric ideas, Ben decided to avoid crossing their line of fire as much as possible, so he skipped the gym in order to spend most of the day in the rec room instead. The room itself was in the shape of a rectangle, but it had carpeted floor and featured several different ways for the inmates to entertain themselves; including billiards and foosball tables, couches and chairs, several decks of cards, and an area where staff members would project movies like Ghostbusters or Caddyshack. The room also housed a miniature library that consisted of several bookshelves and a small reception desk where inmates could rent one book at a time. Ben decided the first thing on his agenda was to turn in his old book and rent a new one, choosing a paperback called House of Leaves. He then pocketed his new book and relaxed with the other inmates for a few hours, watching movies and playing a variety of card games before going to get some lunch from the cafeteria, where he was served a simple meal consisting of a bologna sandwich, an apple, and a carton of milk. Afterward, he decided to simply return to his cell and unwind for the rest of the day. Ben made his way back to his cell and stretched out on the bed, cracking open House of Leaves and managing to read for a few hours before a feeling of drowsiness began to take hold. He decided that a nap sounded nice, and as he went to place his book on the desk he caught a glance of the leaflet that still sat there. It didn’t take long for his habit of rereading the flyer to kick in, and he found himself going over it again for the seemingly millionth time;

* * *

 

**SCP**

**Secure. Contain. Protect.**

 

Orientation Leaflet for the Class-D Personnel 

 

On behalf of the SCP Foundation and our staff, we welcome you to

an exciting one-month working period in one of our top-secret

research facilities. Unfortunately, the exact details of your

upcoming work assignments are highly classified, but please read

this document carefully to make your stay as safe and pleasant as

possible.

 

Each of the Class-D Personnel has been given a numerical

designation. Your personal designation is;

 

_[D-9341]_

 

Please memorize your designation, as the staff will use it to refer

to you from now on.

 

During your stay, you will be taking part in various testing

procedures. Some of them can be extremely dangerous if

appropriate precautions are not taken. This is why we need your

_full_ cooperation at all times in all circumstances - our highly trained

researchers and scientists know how to minimize risks and ensure

the safety of the personnel involved in testing. If you fail to comply

with the instructions you are given, you will be sent back to your

term in death row.

 

If everything goes as planned (meaning that we have your full

cooperation), you will be released at the end of the month and you

will be granted an absolute pardon for all of your previous offenses.

* * *

 

 

“ATTENTION ALL D-CLASS PERSONNEL: YOUR LEISURE PERIOD ENDS IN TEN MINUTES. RETURN TO YOUR CELLS WITHIN THE DESIGNATED TIME LIMIT OR YOU WILL FACE DISCIPLINARY MEASURES. THOSE OF YOU CURRENTLY WORKING WILL BE RETURNED TO YOUR CELLS ONCE YOUR ASSIGNMENTS HAVE BEEN COMPLETED.”

 

Shortly after the intercom went silent, a steady flow of Class-D’s began trickling back into the cellblock, not wanting their privileges to be revoked for being late. Once the ten-minute mark passed and all of the inmates were accounted for, the cell doors slid shut, sealing them inside once more. Despite the fact that the lights wouldn’t be turned off for a few more hours, the feeling of drowsiness returned to Ben stronger than before. He placed the pamphlet back on the desk, laid down in his bed without bothering to take off his jumpsuit, and almost immediately fell into a deep sleep.  

 

**[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]**

 

He was frozen, and could only watch with glazed eyes as his ice-cold body tried its best to move a muscle. The cell was almost pitch black, and incoherent shadows and figures lurked in the corners. He could hear a faint buzzing all around him and disembodied whispers floated through the air, but none of them made any sense. They all spoke in gibberish, and he couldn’t muster any words of his own to tell them to go away. “Sleep paralysis,” he thought, recognizing all of the familiar symptoms. This had been happening to him several times a month for as long as he could remember and wasn’t showing any signs of stopping, but knowing exactly what was happening helped him to calm down… at least until an unusual guest introduced himself.

 

_“You look afraid,”_ a voice coming from his right spoke out. Ben’s heart raced in his chest, and he shifted his focus to the right, catching sight of an enigmatic man sitting on the barstool, looking down at him with a stoic expression. The man was ghostly pale and appeared to be in his late 40s. He wore a black, buttoned-up, cold war era business suit, as well as a white, collared undershirt and a black tie with gray stripes. He also wore black dress pants and shoes, and his dark, combed-back hair was mostly covered by the black fedora atop his head. _“Don’t be afraid,”_ the man continued, _“This is a dream, the last dream you may ever have, for nightmares are coming.”_ His expression never changed, and despite the newfound fear that Ben was currently experiencing, he also felt a strong sense of curiosity that only increased as the man talked. _“I wouldn’t want to wake up, but unfortunately, you must.”_

 

**[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]**

 

Ben shot up in his bed, breathing heavily and blinking the bright light shining from overhead out of his eyes. He stood up, slipped his shoes back on, and began pacing back and forth, thoroughly freaked out by what he’d just experienced. The dream had felt so real… so real that he could practically feel the man’s presence still on the stool beside him. After a few minutes, his breathing slowed back down to normal, and he took a seat on the bed and clutched his forehead, slowly convincing himself that it had just been a particularly haunting bout of sleep paralysis and nothing more. Several minutes into his self-reflection, Ben’s thoughts were interrupted by heavy footsteps steadily growing closer to his cell. Then, at long last, he received the news he’d been waiting to hear;

 

“Control, this is Agent Ulgrin. I need to request to open up Cell-311,” a muffled voice said.

 

“Copy that,” a different voice responded through a radio. Moments later, the cell door slid open, revealing an armed guard standing on the other side.

 

“Hey, they’ve got some work for you. Do me a favor and step out of your cell,” he commanded.


	2. Breakout

Agent Ulgrin wore the exact same gear as all of the other guards, sporting tan fatigues that were almost reminiscent of desert camouflage, yet different enough to avoid being mistaken as such, and emblazoned proudly on the uniform’s right shoulder was the SCP Foundation’s logo. Hard padding sewn into the clothing protected the guard’s knees and elbows from harm, the ends of his sleeves were tucked into black combat gloves, and the bottoms of his pants were tucked into combat boots of the same color. He also wore a military-grade bulletproof vest that was the same color as the fatigues but just a few shades darker, and strapped to the front of it was both an angle-head flashlight and a combat knife sheathed in a sewn-in cover. The military-grade helmet that he wore was the same color as the vest, and the few parts of his head that the helmet didn’t cover up were concealed by a skintight neck gaiter of the same color. His eyes, however, were shielded by a built-in visor just big enough to do the job, and a miniature microphone connected to the helmet’s built-in earpiece hung beside his mouth. Lastly, the burly guard carried a loaded Heckler and Koch G36 Assault Rifle, and holstered to his tactical belt near his right hip was a standard Beretta M9A1 sidearm. “Just follow me. Oh, and by the way, we’re authorized to terminate any disobedient test subjects, so I’d recommend not doing anything stupid,” Ulgrin told the orange-clad man as he stepped out into the hallway.

 

“Hey man, you won’t get any trouble from me. I’m just happy to finally be doing something other than sitting in a cell all day,” Ben responded, cautiously eyeing the weaponry that the guard was toting and wondering what exactly he’d meant by ‘terminate’. He took a quick look around the hallway and noticed that Marcus and two other Class Ds had been retrieved from their cells as well. The first was Dakota, a muscular hispanic man in his late twenties with short dark hair and the label ‘D-9375’ printed on his jumpsuit, and the second was Adam, a surly caucasian man in his early fifties with a balding head of whitening hair and rectangular glasses that did little to hide the darkness within his eyes, the label ‘D-9336’ emblazoned on his clothing as well. Marcus stood in front of all of them, and made a subtle gesture to Ben that let him know a second guard was standing behind the four convicts, ready to apprehend any runners.

 

“Oh really? Hey, new kid,” Ulgrin said to the other guard; “Ten bucks says this guy is crying to be taken back to his cell within five minutes.”

 

“Ummmm… I don’t think we’re supposed to be gambling while on duty,” the rookie responded, earning an audible groan from his elder.

 

“Buddy, you really need to learn how to have some fun around here. You’re going to go insane otherwise,” Ulgrin stated. “Anyway, they’re waiting for you four down in the chamber, so we’d better not waste any more time,” he finished, beginning to lead the group down the hall with the rookie covering the rear. It didn’t take long for them to reach the door that opened up to the rest of D-Wing, but instead of going through it they took a hard left at the intersection, passing a patrolling guard who was blasting music through his headset so loudly that they could all hear it. “Danny, for the love of God turn that shit down before you blow your eardrums out,” Ulgrin commanded. Danny either didn’t care what Ulgrin had to say or simply couldn’t hear him because nothing changed, and neither Ulgrin nor the rookie cared enough to do anything about it, so they kept moving.

 

_“Attention: Head Custodian Stainyr; Please report to Tesla Gate G-6 for maintenance,”_ the intercom piped up as they were halfway down the hall, very different in tone from the announcement everyone had been woken up to in the morning.

 

“So, what do you think they’re gonna have us do?” Marcus whispered to Ben as the group reached a locked metal door with a keycard reader attached to the wall beside it.

 

“Hell if I know, but anything’s better than sitting in that cell for one more second,” Ben responded, watching Ulgrin retrieve a blue keycard from his tactical belt.

 

“Amen to that, brother,” Dakota joined in; “I’ve been itching to get out of my cell all week. I think the only one here who has a problem with this is that crochety old fuck over there. He’s perfectly content to lay around all day and do nothing,” he said, gaining a scowl from Adam.

 

“Watch your mouth you filthy wetback,” Adam grumbled, glaring at the young man.

 

“What the fuck did you just say to me?” Dakota shouted, raising his voice and stepping toward Adam, gaining the attention of their escort.

 

“Hey! Knock it off before I put my foot up both of your asses!” Ulgrin commanded.

 

“You can’t be serious? Did you not hear what this racist asshole just said to me?” Dakota questioned.

 

“Both of you cut the shit right now or next time I won’t ask so nicely,” Ulgrin stated, swiping his keycard and letting the door slide open. “I already hate my job as it is. Why do you people always have to make it more difficult for me?” the irritated guard sighed, leading the way through one of D-Wing’s many exits. Ben and Marcus shared an awkward look with one another while their two seething fellow convicts weren’t paying attention, all while the nervous rookie followed close behind and shut the door behind them. There were subtle changes in scenery as they entered the Light Containment Zone, mainly consisting of the now-black tile floor and gray brick walls replacing the white interiors that the four of them were used to. They walked across the second floor of a large room, one with a staircase leading down below and huge glass windows on the opposite side of the room that gave them clear sight of another section of Class D cells. Shockingly, the sight they were greeted with was a rather troublesome inmate being retrieved from his cell who decided it would be a good idea to sucker punch a guard, and the entire group stopped to watch the spectacle. Unfortunately for him, he only succeeded in hurting his hand by punching the helmet, and the guard in question responded by slamming the butt of her rifle into the convict’s face, presumably breaking his nose. She and her partner grabbed the dazed Class D by the arms and dragged him down the hall, blood from his nose dripping onto the floor. “That could’ve been one of you four if you hadn’t cooperated. Be glad that it wasn’t,” Ulgrin stated casually.

 

“Don’t you think it’s a little cruel how we treat some of these guys? I mean, they’re still people right?” the rookie asked his superior.

 

“Well, I might if I didn’t know that Class Ds are taken from the death row population. As far as I’m concerned, they forfeited human rights when they did whatever got them into that position in the first place,” the agent responded, still looking through the windows. After a moment or two, he simply said; “Let’s keep moving,” and kept walking, leading the group through another door, one that didn’t require a keycard this time around and simply utilized a touchscreen keypad with a virtual button. "Man, I'm hungry. Hey, today's pizza day down at the cafeteria, right?" Ulgrin asked the rookie as they stepped into the new room. They could see people in white lab coats working at computers on the room’s lower level, as large panes of glass enclosed the bridge-like structure between the two rooms. Another door stood at the center of the walkway, blocking the staircase that led down below from access, and a large white banner featuring the Foundation’s logo hung from one of the walls that read:

 

\--------------------------------------

**SCP**

**Secure. Contain. Protect.**

\--------------------------------------

 

"Uh, a-actually, I think it's tuna casserole,” the rookie responded.

 

"Oh, god dammit. Well, my day is ruined. The only thing I still look forward to here is the cafeteria pizza. I don't know what it is about that pizza, but it's delicious. Tuna casserole, on the other hand, is a disgusting abomination and it should be locked up in here with the rest of these freaks,” Ulgrin grumbled, his mood quickly deteriorating.

 

"Uh, okay…” the rookie mumbled, unsure of how to respond to his fellow guard’s outburst. “I think I’ll just wait out here then,” he continued, watching as Ulgrin led the Class Ds through the final doorway.

 

“Go ahead, this won’t take long,” Ulgrin said, leading the convicts into the next room and letting the metal door slide shut behind them. “Well, we’re here. Just get in there and follow all of the instructions and you’ll probably be fine,” he told them, stepping aside to let them through to the containment chamber. “Hey,” Ulgrin said under his breath, catching Ben’s arm as the other Ds walked through the door; “Be careful in there. This job can be more dangerous than it seems,” he said, as if he was genuinely concerned for Ben’s wellbeing.

 

“Umm… thanks?” Ben responded as Ulgrin released him, confused as to why the guard suddenly seemed to care about him. As he turned away to face the chamber, he could’ve sworn that Ulgrin almost seemed hurt by his confusion. As the convict walked toward the door, he glanced at the rectangular sign bolted to the wall. It appeared to be made of solid bronze, and the writing engraved on it read;

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**SCP-173**

**OBJECT CLASS: EUCLID**

**CLEARANCE LEVEL: 2**

**WARNING: SENTIENT AND VIOLENT**

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The door slid shut behind him faster than he could process what the sign said, and the warning it exhibited left a bad feeling in him as he glanced up at another Foundation banner on the right wall, wondering what exactly all of this was hinting at. As he caught sight of his fellow Class Ds standing in front of a huge reinforced blast door, as well as the armed guard watching them from the room’s second floor, Ben found himself growing nervous, wondering what exactly was so dangerous in the chamber beyond that they needed a reinforced steel door and an armed guard to keep it locked up. Suddenly, a terrible thought occurred to him; “What if Marcus was right?” That’s when he noticed all of the mops and cleaning supplies set out for them, and let out a deep sigh of relief as the realization that he wasn’t about to be fed to something awful swept over him. “This is just a cleaning job… it’s as simple as that,” he told himself, disappointed that it wasn’t more exciting but relieved that it wasn’t anything dangerous at the same time. Little did Ben know that his life was about to change forever.

 

“Attention all Class D Personnel,” a voice started to say over the intercom. As the four inmates searched for the source, they turned around to see a small observation office on the second floor adjacent from the guard’s post, and shielded behind its bulletproof glass windows and locked door was none other than Security Chief Franklin. “This is a very simple procedure to carry out; you are to use the supplies we’ve given you to clean the floor of SCP-173’s containment chamber. Now, this might sound like a simple task, but there’s a catch; No more than two of you are to be cleaning at the same time. The other two are to maintain a direct line of sight with SCP-173 at all times, which means alerting one another to when you’re about to blink. You may swap jobs at your own discretion, just remember to have at least two people observing SCP-173 at all times. You won’t like what happens if you look away,” Franklin finished, letting this information sink into the convicts heads for a moment. “One more thing, included with your cleaning supplies are four air filtration masks. I suggest you wear them.” The four Class Ds complied, putting on their masks and gathering up their supplies, failing to notice the faint sound of scraping stone coming from the other side of the door. “Now, if everyone’s ready, let’s get this show on the road,” Franklin said, moving to flip a few switches. Then, with a great creak the blast doors shuddered upen, revealing the horrors within. "All Class-D personnel, please enter the containment chamber."

 

“What… is that?” Dakota asked as the blast doors slid shut behind them.

 

“I’m guessing that’s SCP-173,” Ben responded, staring in the same direction as the others. Facing the wall near the back of the room was an odd looking concrete sculpture that stood nearly seven feet tall. It was tan in color and rough in texture, and its body was long, broad, and had two outstretched, armlike appendages that ended in nubs protruding from its upper torso that nearly touched the wall it was facing. Its two legs were curved slightly and had a shallow crease in the middle of them that almost made the statue appear to have four legs. It also hadn’t been given any feet; instead, the sculpture’s legs just got skinnier the further down they went, and were flat at the very bottom. From the middle of its back to all the way down to its backside was spray painted black, and its oversized head and neck had both seemingly been attached to the body separately, presumably with some form of silicone caulk. However, for some odd reason, the upper half chunk of the back of its head was also attached separately, and protruding from both sides of the statue’s head, in roughly the same place as ears would be on a person, was a small chunk of rebar that was spray painted red and barely managed to break through the outer layer of concrete.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me? What is this, some kind of shitty joke?” Adam asked, looking around in disbelief. “This is just a statue, big fucking deal, why is there blood and shit all over the floor?” he said, looking up at a wall-mounted camera. And indeed there was; covering most of the chamber’s scratched up cement floor was a reddish-brown combination of blood and fecal matter, a combination that probably would’ve smelled rather awful if not for their masks and the room’s ventilation systems. Strangely though, the waste was simply present in the room, showing no signs of having been excreted by SCP-173 as the statue itself was spotless… not that a simple sculpture could possibly be responsible for such a mess, of course.

 

“Man, who gives a shit. Let’s just do what they ask and get this done so we can go back to our cells,” Marcus said, picking up a mop. Ben and I will start with the cleaning, you two just keep an eye on that thing for now… if you can go more than two seconds without trying to kill each other, that is.” 

 

“Whatever, I’m not the one who has a problem with equality,” Dakota responded. “You tell me when you’re about to blink and I’ll do the same for you, sound good old man?” he said to Adam.

 

“Fine, but I’m not happy about it,” Adam grumbled.

 

“Yeah, I really don’t care,” Dakota said as the two began their watch while Ben and Marcus started cleaning.

 

“Good lord, those two are going to be the death of me long before that damn statue does anything,” Marcus muttered, just within earshot of Ben.

 

“I hear ya, although not everyone can be as pleasant as us I suppose,” Ben whispered back.

 

“What the hell is with that thing anyway? Why’d they make such a big deal out of a statue, of all things? I mean, by definition it can’t do anything,” Marcus asked.

 

“Maybe it can, but it just needs to be provoked first,” Ben started to say.

 

“Oh really?” Marcus said, giving Ben a look that said “you’re an idiot” while he wrung out his mop.

 

“Yeah man, maybe it gets pissed if you shine bright light in its face or something, so watch out for those overhead lights; we don’t want one of them reflecting off of your head and pissing this thing off?” Ben responded, a smirk on his face as he watched Marcus’ reaction to his joke.

 

“Wow… really? Here we are shoveling literal blood and shit in a lab that seems like it should have robots or something doing this, and the first thing you think to do is make a joke about my bald head?” Marcus said, trying to hide an amused grin.

 

“Yup,” Ben simply told his friend before going back to work.

 

“You can kiss the blackest part of my ass, Benjamin,” Marcus chuckled, causing Ben to laugh out loud.

 

**[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]**

 

Meanwhile, Franklin was talking over the radio to one of his guards back at the outpost while monitoring the progress of the Class Ds, deep in discussion about the morning’s containment breach. "For some reason he passed by 079's chamber, and now the doors aren't working… Well, at least they weren't working when I last passed by… Skinner?... Hmm, I don't recall knowing him very well. Was he ever stationed at this sector?... Yeah, he picked up a security agent and a junior researcher on the way… Kid was taking papers to his supervisor, shit sucks… It shook up Dr. L. pretty badly. He hasn't left his office, says he's been hearing things,” Franklin said over the radio, listening to what his officer had to say. “I suppose we just handle this the same as we’ve always… Wait, what the hell?” he said, rising up from his chair. “Jim, I have to go. I’ll get back with you in a few minutes,” Franklin said, hanging up the call and watching in confusion as the blast doors slid open, desperately trying to close it again, but to no avail. He watched as three of the Class Ds turned around to look at the doors, leaving only one still observing 173. After a momentary heart palpitation, Franklin let out a sigh of relief as the two closest to the door, D-9341 and D-9348, remembered their instructions and turned back around just in time to keep the statue in their sights as the other two turned away from it and got into a screaming match. “Idiots…” Franklin grumbled as the guard shot him a questioning look from his perch, moving to activate the PA system. “Uh, there seems to be a problem with the door control system. The door isn't responding to any of our attempts to close it, so um, please maintain direct eye contact with SCP-173, and-” Franklin began to say, but was cut short as to his horror the lights went out, leaving the room in complete darkness. The lights couldn’t have been out for more than a second, but it was enough.

 

“Holy fucking shit!” Marcus yelled, his hazel eyes filled with fear as a sharp crack rang out and Adam’s corpse fell to the floor with its head twisted at an odd angle, the statue now standing directly behind him. They could all see its face now, but instead of being the horrific monstrosity they would’ve expected, it was something else entirely; The entirety of its face was spray painted onto the concrete. Its two eyes were bulbous and lime green, and a few inches below each eye was a black circle seemingly meant to imitate a cheek. Its ‘nose’ consisted of a large black splotch vaguely resembling an exclamation mark at the center of its face, and a couple inches below the nose was a small black ‘mouth’ that almost appeared to be smiling. Most of the empty space between its facial features was spray painted red, and if not for its horrific nature, the statue could almost be described as cute. As everybody in the room went into a panic, Dakota found himself stumbling backwards into a wall with nowhere to go. Shaking in terror, he didn’t even have time to let out a scream as the lights flashed again and 173 ended him with a sickening crunch.

 

Struggling to keep their eyes on the abomination to stop it from moving, Ben and Marcus stumbled backwards out of the blast doors as the guard readied his weapon and Franklin fought with the controls. However, be it dumb luck or sheer coincidence, the two remaining convicts tripped over one another just before the lights went out for a third time, hitting the ground just as the sculpture was set free. “Wait, stay down,” Ben whispered as Marcus started to get up, and luckily his friend listened to him and stopped moving. “Just play dead,” he instructed, and their strategy worked as the statue passed them by without incident, but unfortunately, the guard on his perch was not so lucky. Whatever had opened the blast doors had opened all of the other doors in the room as well, and while Franklin had just enough time to hide under the desk in the control room, the guard found himself face-to-face with 173, which had stopped moving only a few feet away from him as the lights kicked in once more.

 

“Oh shit. Oh shit-SHIT!” the guard yelled, firing his weapon into the statue. Completely unfazed by the firearm, 173 ended his life the same way as it had the two Class Ds; by snapping his neck as soon as the lights went out. Satisfied with its work, the sculpture left the room in the blink of an eye and escaped into the light containment zone to wreak havoc on the ones who’d imprisoned it. Ben and Marcus remained laying on the floor, processing what had just happened as the backup lights kicked in. They were much dimmer than the main lights, but this worked out in their favor as well as a few moments later, Agent Ulgrin and the rookie he’d brought along earlier came bursting into the room and charged up the stairs, ignoring what they presumed to be two dead Class Ds. 

 

“Security Chief Franklin, come with us if you want to live!” Ulgrin said, helping the man back up onto his feet. “Come on, we don’t have much time!” he shouted as the three of them ran out of the room while the facility’s alarms finally triggered;

 

“THE SITE IS EXPERIENCING MULTIPLE EUCLID AND KETER LEVEL CONTAINMENT BREACHES! FULL SITE LOCKDOWN INITIATED!”

 

“Come on, we need to get the fuck out of here,” Marcus said, helping Ben up onto his feet.

 

“Right behind you,” Ben responded as the two of them ran back out into the light containment zone. However, they were stopped in their tracks almost immediately as the rookie guard let out a shriek of terror, followed by a gunshot. However, the sound that really sent goosebumps running down their arms was the same wet, sucking sound that they’d heard that morning, accompanied by a deep, raspy, sadistic laugh. They both turned to look at a security monitor showing the offices on the lower level of the next room, and while they couldn’t tell the full extent of what was happening due to the lighting, Agent Ulgrin was watching the lifeless hand of his trainee sinking into the black sludge on the floor that was still swallowing desks and chairs. The Old Man may have taken the new recruit, but Ulgrin had made sure to put him out of his misery before 106 could tear him to pieces.

 

“Agent, behind you!” Franklin shouted, pointing over Ulgrin’s shoulder at SCP-173, who’d decided to make an appearance.

 

“Oh, shit!” Ulgrin said, fixating his gaze on the statue.

 

“Keep your eyes on it!” Franklin said as they both began to back out of the room. “Alright, I'm going to blink. Just keep on watching it.”

 

“Alright, got it,” Ulgrin responded, doing his best to stay calm as the lights flickered again, allowing 173 to get closer. However, the duo managed to get out the door and shut it behind them just before the lights flickered for the final time, allowing 173 to escape through an open door behind it as another urgent message blared over the intercom;

 

“ATTENTION ALL PERSONNEL: REPORT TO THE NEAREST EVACUATION SHELTER IMMEDIATELY!”

 

It was in that moment that a ferocious, animalistic roar erupted from somewhere deep in the facility, somehow powerful enough to rattle the very earth on which they stood. “I do not like the sound of that,” Ben commented fearfully; I guess you were right about this place having some really dark secrets.

 

“You know, I was going to say something about that, but considering we were just attacked by a living statue, I figured this wasn’t the best time for an ‘I-told-you-so’,” Marcus responded, still watching the screen for any signs of movement. “I just thought of something; Maybe there’s something up in that control room that could be helpful. I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on that dead guard’s gun right about now. God knows how many more freaks like 173 just broke out of their cells”

 

“Good idea, let’s go. I don’t want to wait around here any longer than we have to,” Ben said. The two of them turned to head back into the containment chamber as the chaotic sounds of screaming and gunfire echoed throughout the facility, accompanied by blaring alarms and other more unsettling noises. Now that the door on the opposite end of the room was open, they were able to easily make their way up to the stairs and onto the second floor, first moving to retrieve the guard’s firearm.

 

“Dammit, he emptied his clip into that statue,” Marcus said, tossing the gun back onto the ground.

 

“See if he has any extra ammo in that tactical belt,” Ben said, watching as his friend flipped the guard over onto his back.

 

“Nope, nothing. Paul Blart here wasn’t very prepared,” Marcus sighed, snatching the angle-head flashlight off of the corpse and standing up. “This little beauty should come in handy though.”

 

“You know, we’re taking this whole thing surprisingly well. Most people would be scared too shitless to do much more than curl up in a ball and cry in a situation like this,” Ben commented, confused at their combined disposition, and the oddly familiar feeling of this scenario.

 

“Just wait until the adrenaline wears off,” Marcus halfheartedly joked. “Listen, I don’t plan on dying in this place, and I don’t think you do either, so for now we just have to put on brave faces and tough it out. Let’s save the whole ‘talking about our feelings’ part for when we get out of this place, alright?”

 

“I’m with you there, let’s go,” Ben agreed as the two of them made their way into the control room. Unfortunately, coming back to the room appeared to have been a waste of time at first glance, as the only things present in the control center was a plate of half-eaten spaghetti and a shattered coffee mug. However, it was when Marcus shone the flashlight back onto the table that Franklin had been sitting at that they noticed the document placed atop an otherwise empty folder with The Foundation’s logo stamped on its cover. At the top right of the document was a black-and-white photograph of 173 in containment with its head turned toward the camera, as well as text above the picture that read; ‘Clearance Level: 2’. Shining the flashlight down on the document, the two Class Ds read it over;

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**Item #:** SCP-173

 

**Object Class:** Euclid

 

**Special Containment Procedures:** Item SCP-173 is to be kept in a locked containment unit at all times. When personnel must enter SCP-173's containment unit, no fewer than 3 may enter at any time and the door is to be relocked behind them. At all times, two persons must maintain direct eye contact with SCP-173 until all personnel have vacated and relocked the containment unit.

 

**Description:** Moved to Area-19 in 1993, the object’s origins are as of yet unknown. It is constructed from concrete and rebar with traces of Krylon brand spray paint. SCP-173 is animate and extremely hostile. The object cannot move while within a direct line of sight. Line of sight must not be broken at any time with SCP-173. Personnel assigned to enter its containment unit are instructed to alert one another before blinking. Object is reported to attack by snapping the neck at the base of the skull, or by strangulation. In the event of an attack, personnel are to observe Class 4 hazardous object containment procedures.

 

Personnel report sounds of scraping stone originating from within the container when no one is present inside. This is considered normal, and any change in this behaviour should be reported to the acting HMCL supervisor on duty.

 

The reddish brown substance on the floor is a combination of feces and blood. Origin of these materials is unknown. The enclosure must be cleaned on a bi-weekly basis.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Well, that doesn’t really tell us much other than what we already knew,” Ben said disappointedly, tearing his eyes away from the paper. “I was hoping for something a little more important than a history lesson and a cleaning guide.”

 

“It’s probably a good thing that this file isn’t very long. It means this thing doesn’t have any more nasty surprises for us,” Marcus responded, shining his flashlight around the room again to check one last time for anything important.

 

“Yeah, you’re probably right. Let’s get out of here,” Ben muttered as the two of them headed back down the stairs and out the door, taking the document with them. “Hey, look,” he said, pointing to their left as they walked back into the room with the security monitor; “That door is open now,” and indeed it was. The door that had seemed so inconsequential earlier had been opened along with the others, and inside of what they’d thought was a broom closet was actually a decent sized supply cache. As they approached the room, Marcus shined his flashlight’s beam inside and revealed two mostly empty shelves that held flashlights, gas masks, and a handful of 9V Batteries. However, the real treasure of the room was the dark gray tactical backpack slumped against a wall that would allow them to carry all of these new items. The two of them quickly shoveled the gear into the backpack as well as 173’s document, and as Ben took out a flashlight of his own and put on the backpack, he said; “It sounds like that sculpture is gone for now, so let’s get out of here while we still can. Do you think we should try to head back to D-Wing?”

 

“Hell no, that guard needed a keycard to get through the door, and in case you haven’t noticed, we don’t exactly have one of those. Besides, that place is probably crawling with guards right now. If everything in the building just got released from containment, then that probably includes our ‘friends’ on the other side of the door. I don’t know about you, but I don’t feel like walking into a prison riot,” Marcus answered.

 

“Good point. Well, in that case, the only thing we can do is go deeper into the facility,” Ben said, and the two of them made their way to the room with the stairs leading down to the lower level from the walkway. It was when they reached the bottom of the staircase that they got their first look at the devastation that had been unleashed upon the facility; There was no sign of life anywhere, and most of the desks, chairs, and cubicles at the center of the room had been swallowed up by a huge sinkhole filled with black muck, and one table was half submerged in the pit. “I wouldn’t recommend going near that,” Ben said, eyeing the corrosion and cracks that blemished the tile flooring around the sinkhole.

 

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning on going spelunking,” Marcus responded. “What the hell could’ve made something like that so fast?”

 

“I don’t even want to know what kind of other monstrosities they have locked up in this place… mostly because they just broke free,” Ben said. “Whatever made this was royally pissed, and I don’t think we should stick around to see if it comes back.”

 

“God, just the idea of there being worse things in here than that statue is fucking horrifying. Hopefully none of that shit comes anywhere near us,” Marcus said, growing more paranoid by the second. “I don’t like this, Ben, I really don’t.”

 

“I don’t either, but you said it yourself, we can’t go back to D-Wing. I know we probably don’t have any chance of making it out of this place alive, but I’d rather die trying than just sit here and wait for some monster to tear us apart. So, are you with me?” Ben asked, looking away from the sinkhole.

 

“Yeah, I am,” Marcus responded; “Let’s go, I’m tired of hanging around this dump.” Finally having formed an understanding, the two men made their way to the door that Ulgrin and Franklin had left through, doing their best to keep a level head and stay calm. “Get ready, because there’s no going back once we’re through this door,” he said, hitting the button. They both watched as the metal door slid open before stepping through, shutting it on the office behind them and observing the four-way hallway they now stood in. It was almost identical to the one they’d become so familiar with back in D-Wing, with the only differences being the color of the walls and floor and the absence of a catwalk for patrolling guards. “Which way should we go?” Marcus asked his friend.

 

“Well, going straight seems like as good of a place to start as any, so let’s do that,” Ben responded. The two of them cautiously stepped forward, making sure that 173 wasn’t in the room with them and hidden in some unseen corner, and upon deciding that it was safe enough, made their way to the door ahead. Upon using the keypad to open it, they were greeted with a relatively small room that featured nothing other than a couple of chairs, a sealed blast door directly ahead, and another keycard reader beside a bronze sign that read;

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**SCP-914**

**OBJECT CLASS: SAFE**

**CLEARANCE LEVEL: 3**

**WARNING: NONSTANDARD SPACETIME**  

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Nonstandard spacetime… I don’t like the sound of that,” Marcus mused, wondering what exactly the blast door was keeping contained.

 

“I don’t know man, the object class says it’s safe to be around. Not everything in this place has to be bad, maybe this thing could help us somehow?”

 

“Really? After what you just saw a fucking statue of all things do, you want to risk cracking open another cell and letting some creature out to try and kill us? I don’t give a shit if that sign says it’s safe, for all we know, safe to these people means ‘it won’t kill us if we leave it alone’. Those chairs aren’t just sitting out here for nothing, clearly they had the guards on the outside of the chamber for a reason,” Marcus grumbled, irritated at Ben’s naivety. “You’re going to get yourself killed if you carry on like this.”

 

“Look, all I’m saying is that not every anomaly in here has to be a bad thing. I think it’s worth a shot to at least figure out what this thing is because maybe, just maybe, it could be useful to us. Besides, we don’t have any clearance whatsoever, so our first order of business needs to be finding a keycard or something because we’re not going to get very far if we don’t,” Ben responded.

 

“Fine,” Marcus said, “But don’t come crying to me if the thing in there bites your foot off or some shit.”

 

“Thanks for the moral support, buddy, I knew I could count on you,” Ben retorted sarcastically as the two of them left the room, having no way to get at 914 just yet. Suddenly, the door to their left slid open and a middle-aged brunette who was wearing a janitor’s uniform and had her hair in a bun ran by, letting out a frightened yelp and freezing in her tracks when she saw the two convicts standing there looking at her. “Hey, miss, it’s okay, we’re not going to hurt-” Ben started to say, but was cut off by the woman.

 

“Get the hell away from me!” she shrieked, running past them and opening the door to their right.

 

“Okay, that was just rude,” Marcus commented as they watched the panicking janitor run into the next hallway. However, it only took the two Class Ds a few seconds to realize that something was off; A tall, rectangular metal structure that reminded them of an oversized walk-through metal detector stood at the center of the hallway, leaving no empty space to get around it and acting as a gate from one half of the hall to the other. What set off some red flags, however, was the black and yellow tape a few feet behind the gate, the lightbulb at the top of the machine glowing red and blinking, and the faint sound of electric humming and sparking coming from the structure, not to mention the large black and yellow sticker attached to the metal overpass on the top of the gate that read;

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**DANGER**  

**NO PASSING WHEN THE**

**TESLA GATE IS ACTIVE**  

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Lady, watch out!” Marcus yelled, but it was too late. With a blinding flash of white light and the sharp crackling of electricity, the janitor let out a short scream and was sent flying back through the air, her clothes singed and her skin charred and blackened from the intense voltage.

 

“What the FUCK is wrong with this place!? Marcus yelled as he and Ben backed away from the motionless corpse, covering their noses to avoid smelling her burned flesh.

 

“Oh god, the smell… I think I’m gonna be sick,” Ben said, his head spinning after what he’d just witnessed.

 

“Hang in there brother. Look, her loss might actually be our gain, check out what she was carrying,” Marcus said, pointing at the cadaver’s clenched fist. Barely visible through the janitor’s stiff fingers was a yellow plastic rectangle.

 

“Oh god, Marcus, this is fucking sick,” Ben groaned. “Are we seriously going to loot a dead body?”

 

“I hate this just as much as you do man, but we don’t have any other options. Hell, this opportunity pretty much just threw itself at us,” Marcus responded, still covering his nose and mouth.

 

“Christ… Fine, I’ll do it,” Ben grumbled, heading toward the dead woman, who’d landed a safe distance away from the Tesla gate, while still covering his nose. “I’m so sorry about this, lady,” he whispered as he reached for her hand. However, the electric shock had done far more damage to her than either of them expected, and when he attempted to pry her fingers away from the keycard, they broke clean off. Ben dropped the charred fingers and fell over onto his hands and knees, retching onto the floor as Marcus propped himself up against a wall and did everything he could to hold in vomit of his own. “Marcus… you son of a bitch!” Ben heaved, double vision making his head spin.

 

“Fuck this shit, come on man,” Marcus said, stumbling into the room, taking the woman’s minimally damaged keycard, and helping Ben back onto his feet. The two of them stumbled out of the hallway and shut the door behind them, doing everything they could to block out what they’d just seen.

 

“That’s not even the worst thing we’re going to see today, is it?” Ben moaned, still recovering from his nausea.

 

“No, I don’t think it is,” Marcus confirmed, his stomach still churning from the sight he’d just witnessed. “Here, take this,” he said, handing Ben the slightly melted keycard. “It’s a bit damaged, but not enough to stop it from working. It was worth it.”

 

“God, I hope so,” Ben said, taking deep breaths to steady himself. “I’m not going anywhere near that fucking gate. Let’s check out the hallway that lady came from.”

 

“I’m right behind you,” Marcus responded as the two of them walked toward the last hallway, praying that this one wouldn’t be a dead-end or deathtrap. “It’s too bad we didn’t see that before,” he said while pointing toward the top of the door that led back into the offices they’d been in. Just above the door was a wall-mounted black monitor that gave directions to passerby, featuring four different arrows on its screen pointing in different directions and each accompanied by a caption. The top arrow pointed upwards in the direction of the offices and containment chamber and simply read; ‘D-Wing’. The second arrow pointed to the left and read; ‘Security Offices’, and the third arrow pointing right read; ‘Storage Area 6’. Finally, the fourth arrow pointed down and read; ‘914 Containment’.

 

“Are you shitting me right now?” Ben said, annoyed that they could’ve just figured out what direction to go in by looking behind them to begin with. Regardless, the two convicts now had a clear goal, and entered the last hallway with the intent of finding something useful in the presumably abandoned security offices.

 

“Oh, thank God, this one’s normal,” Marcus sighed, letting a smile spread across his face. However, that smile quickly faded when he saw Ben staring at another bronze sign attached to the right wall next to a metal door;

 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**SCP-650**

**OBJECT CLASS: EUCLID**

**CLEARANCE LEVEL: 2**

**WARNING: AUTONOMOUS OBJECT**

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Marcus, you know we have to-,” Ben started.

 

“Yeah, I know. Listen, as far as warnings go, this one seems to be the safest thing we’ve come across so far, so you should be able to handle this on your own. I’m going to go ahead and see how close this security office is. Be careful man, and just yell if you need me,” Marcus instructed.

 

“Sounds good to me, you be careful to. And blink before you open a door in case 173 is in the next room,” Ben responded. Marcus gave him a thumbs up and headed down the hallway, walking through the next door and disappearing from sight. With the janitor’s Level 1 Keycard in hand, Ben let out a nervous breath and swiped it in the keycard reader. He let out a sigh of relief, ecstatic that an area that required level 2 clearance had accepted a level 1 card. “I guess they make certain exceptions for the janitors,” Ben said, eyeing the personalized keycard as the door slid open to reveal another room. As he stepped inside the empty room, he noticed two more doors, one directly ahead and one to the left. He figured out pretty quickly that the door ahead was out of the picture, as the keypad next to it was powered off. The one to the left, however, was fully functional, and when Ben opened the door, he found himself grateful for thinking up the technique of blinking before entering.

 

The room itself was a relatively small testing chamber, containing only a few filing cabinets against the rightmost wall and another filing cabinet and a wooden table against the leftmost wall. Sitting atop the table was another folder with The Foundation’s logo printed on the cover, as well as a device that looked similar to a PDA. The corpse of a researcher sat in a chair at the table with its neck bent at an odd angle, and as much as Ben was worried about having to loot another body, he was more worried about what was in the other half of the room. Sealed with a metal door and viewable through a large, thick glass window that came almost down to the ground was the other half of the room, which was darker and meant for containment, and within the chamber was not a new SCP, but an old one; SCP-173. “How the hell did you get in there?” Benjamin asked aloud, not taking his eyes off of the statue. After a few moments, he blinked to test his luck, and the statue moved close to the window but was stopped by it. Thinking he was safe, Ben made the fatal flaw of turning his gaze away from the sculpture to reach for the document and device on the table. Before he even knew what had happened, the glass window shattered as 173 lunged at the inmate and broke his neck effortlessly, letting him fall to the ground with a loud crunch. The remaining oxygen in his lungs forced itself out in a dying gasp, and the last thing Ben saw before his world went dark was the sculpture standing over him victoriously.

 

* * *

_Author's Note_

_No, this is not the end of the story. I didn't build everything up this much just to end it here, but since it might be a while before the next update, I felt like it'd be a good idea to leave a short explanation at this point until Chapter 3 is out._

_To those of you who are wondering how the story could possibly continue now with our main protagonist deceased, I have a very simple explanation._

_Two words:_

**_Spiral Gestalt_ **


End file.
